


In the Arms of Sleep

by LouPF



Series: Walking in Starlit Fields (and Memories) [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Nightmares, POV First Person, Pre-Slash, elves are weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 21:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20229253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouPF/pseuds/LouPF
Summary: Gimli has a nightmare while they're off chasing orcs. Legolas is there to comfort him. To Gimli's great surprise, Legolas falls asleep during the night - and not in the manner of elves.





	In the Arms of Sleep

The first night we slept after running after the orcs, and in turn, the hobbits, was when I first began to realize what I had gotten myself into.

Ack, alright, perhaps it was not the first night _directly_ – but it was one of those nights, oh yes, it was.

Aragorn fell asleep quickly the second night – and the first we slept. I was weighed down by my worries and sat a long time polishing my blades – less of a need and more of a desire to occupy my hands. I might start tugging at my hair and beard otherwise, and I feared my braids coming undone. Braiding them where others might see… no. I kept my hands occupied.

Legolas, with whom my friendship was growing stronger by the minute, lay on the grass with his hands behind his head. “I find I cannot sleep,” he said, and he sounded confused, his voice as airy as normal.

“Nay?” I asked, glancing over at him. “Why ever not?”

“I do not know.”

I put down my blades and looped my fingers together, shifting so I sat beside him. “Aye, you are not alone in this, Master Elf, for sleep eludes me, as well.”

Legolas blinked, and his gaze slid over to me, eyebrows knitting together. “Must you always be so formal?” he asked. I blinked in surprise at the hurt in his voice. “Are we not friends, Gimli? Am I nothing more than an Elf to you?”

“Peace, Legolas,” I said softly. “Peace. I am merely teasing; I mean nothing by it. Yes, we are friends, you foolish creature. You are my friend.”

Legolas stared at me for a long moment, his skin shimmering slightly in the night. Then he looked away and sighed, putting his hands atop his chest. “Forgive me,” he murmured. “It is the worry. It gnaws at me.”

“Aye, and me as well,” I said. “It steals my sleep and breath. I worry and fear. Aragorn must be exhausted from it – but alas, Men are strange. As are Elves, and Hobbits, and Dwarrow, too.” And without further ado, I did the bravest thing so far on the quest: I reached out, heart hammering, and took his hand. It was a soft and delicate thing, pale and lithe and so strong in mine.

His breath ceased, for a short moment, and then his gaze found mine, eyes wide in a strangely mortal way.

“If you pull back now,” I said, lowering my voice further – and I knew, I knew so well that Aragorn slept less than six feet away from us, but it felt like it was only Legolas and me here – here, and in the whole, wide world. “I will let you go.”

“And if I don’t?” Legolas breathed.

“I will stay.”

There were many words I weren’t saying. A friendship between Elf and Dwarf would never be easy. Yet both he and I had just admitted to such a friendship; I was now saying I would try and keep on trying.

Legolas closed his eyes. “Thank you, my friend. You ease my fears.”

I smiled, uncaring that he could not see it. “And you mine.” I fell asleep not soon after, lying in the open air without my bedroll. I had forgotten it, lost in a soft conversation with Legolas.

When I woke up the next day, Legolas was already bustling about the camp. I knew he had rested in that strange way of elves – eyes open and glazed over, unseeing. It was enough for me.

The second night Aragorn was asleep even before he lay down. Once again, it was me, and Legolas, against the darkness of night.

We talked aimlessly for a short while until I drifted off to sleep. My rest was not easy, however, and I woke with a start sometime during the night. Tears stained my cheeks – it had been a strange dream – a nightmare, at that – and I could not fathom why it would be brought to my attention.

I had been a hobbit, a young hobbit lass, and I’d faced off my parents yelling about someone being lonely. My parents had not understood and become violent in their attempt to make _me _understand their point. It had been terrifying, for a good few seconds, and now I sat awake staring into the emptiness.

I was safe. I was safe. Adad would never raise a hand against me. Amad loved me to the very core. I was safe.

“Gimli?”

I started, glancing over at Legolas, who was watching me carefully. The raw concern in his eyes grasped my heart in an iron fist and clenched.

“Oh,” I said and bit my lip to keep from making too much noise when the sobs began.

“Gimli,” Legolas said again, crawling closer, wrapping his body around mine. “Gimli. Gimli. It is alright. It is okay. What is the matter?”

“Nightmare,” I murmured, folding against him, pressing my forehead against his collarbone. I did not mention that it felt like a memory. “I am alright.” He made to pull back, but I resisted, clutching at his shirt. “Hold me?”

He was still for a moment, then tipped us over, so we were lying on my bedroll, close, close, our legs tangled. It couldn’t have been too comfortable for him – I was so short, and he so long, he must’ve folded himself thrice over just to get our legs near each other.

Yet he did not complain.

“Of course,” he muttered.

Sleep came easy that night. Easier than it had in months.

When I woke the next morning, Legolas was not bustling about camp getting us ready for leaving. Nay – he was quite busy snuggled up to my back, snoring.

Aragorn was staring at us blankly.

“I thought Elves need no sleep,” I said when I finally found my tongue again.

“They do not,” Aragorn said. “They only fall into a deep sleep when they feel like no harm may befall them, and will not wake for days.” The look he gave us was heavy and strange, and I did not like it.

I did not like how my chest warmed at the thought that Legolas felt safe in my arms, either.

“Oh,” I said, and found my hand was resting atop Legolas’. “Oh,” I said again and hoped my beard would cover my blush.

Aragorn shook his head, but it seemed more like an amused move than anything else. “Wake him,” he said simply. “We must go.”

“Wake him?” I repeated, sitting half-way up before I remembered the Elf attached to my middle. “You just said – ”

“You will wake him,” Aragorn said, and allowed no arguing on the matter.

It took some cautious, soft coercing – some light touching his hair, some gentle tapping his nose, some pressing our foreheads together – and didn’t that make me blush – but eventually, Legolas returned to the waking world.

“…Gimli?” he muttered.

“Aye,” I said, sitting back in relief. “It’s time to go, laddie.”

He frowned. “I slept?”

“Aye,” I said again, chuckling. “Snoring like a wee baby.”

“I did not,” Legolas said, swatting at my arm.

“You did,” Aragorn called from where he was packing his sack. “Pack, now, my friends, and let us move. The Three Hunters cannot rest for long.”

Yet while we packed up for the third day of marching, Legolas remained strangely quiet and thoughtful. It was not before Aragorn had moved out of earshot that he spoke up again. “You woke me?” he asked, eyes fastened on his bedroll.

I raised an eyebrow. “Aye,” I said. “I did.”

It would be weeks before he explained why it was such an extraordinary thing, for a Dwarf to wake an Elf.


End file.
